Haymaker
by BFTLandMWandSEK
Summary: It's not easy being a team captain. You're the big brother of your team: you watch out for those kids. You'll protect your teammates the same way you want to protect your little siblings. You do what's best for your team, no matter if that makes your job so impossibly hard you have to sacrifice a part of yourself to achieve that goal . . .
1. Gatekeeper

**Haha! It's finally up! :D Ugh, this thing's been sitting on my computer for like 3 days! But at least I can post it now :3**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

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_As I stood there, the sweat beading around me like droplets of glue, my red-wrapped knuckles aching, I thought. I always thought when I boxed. There's not enough time for thinking when you're swimming. Everything comes down to – literally – the millisecond. Your mind can't wander when you're swimming. Especially if can't see where you're going. Especially when you've already got a whole bunch of other things to consider. Environmental things._

_How close am I to the lane lines? What place am I in? What school is in the lead? _

_Where's Dad sitting?_

_. . . where's Dad sitting? Well he's sitting right over there. In the visitor's stand. Edge of the fourth row, right next to the far left gate. Right next to the parking lot gate. His company car is parked there, gleaming so black behind the fence that no one – not even those pesky pigeons – would dare go near enough to breathe on it._

_All planned for a quick getaway. If I win, he leaves. If I lose, he leaves. He'll always leave without a word. That's how he works; that's how he's always worked. Maybe he'll get better by the time he reaches May and Sue._

Damn that hurts!_ I begin to unwrap my hands, nursing my red, sore and broken skin. The girls have turned out alright. At the time of that race, they were too young to come and Mom only ever works the day shift._

_Man, being the oldest sibling's a hard job. You have to set all the precedents. You're the one who makes it so hard for those kids, those little kids who are too young to come watch you swim against seven other young boys, to make a name for _themselves_. They'll always be compared to you. "Oh you're Mikoshiba's little sisters, aren't you? That's right; you all look alike, just like your father." Because of you, your little siblings will probably end up doing everything you did when you were their age because people are always telling _you_ to do your best but they never stop to think and teach those little squirts to think for themselves._

_I found myself smiling as I looked at my hands, my bleeding hands, the hands that always do their best._

_I lost the race that day. Dad left without a word._

* * *

My arm reached out to catch the violently swinging bag. _Tachibana should be here any minute now,_ I thought.

Taking a seat on the nearby bench, re-wrapping my bleeding knuckles, I surveyed the now empty room. When I had arrived, the gym had been overflowing. I'd waited an hour before a punching bag station cleared, but not being quick enough, I was forced to sit there uselessly for yet _another_ hour.

I wondered now why I thought coming to the gym on a Saturday at 8am was a good idea. Tachibana was meeting me at noon, but I'd wanted to get in my own workout before he showed up. It's not like I need it – I see the way Matsuoka's little sister looks at me – but a little extra never hurts.

My water bottle's nearly empty, so I escape to the drinking fountain to refill it. Now, closer to lunchtime, the gym is practically empty. Everyone my age has gone home to do homework or primp for an afternoon outing with that special someone or a group of friends. The old timers left for business meetings; hey, just because it's a Saturday doesn't mean you can't get some work done at the same time. But all in all, it was a perfect day to meet the Iwatobi Swim Captain for a good workout session, and also the time to share some good-natured and hard-earned wisdom with the newcomer.

Though the fountain is on the entirely opposite side of the room, I hear the automatic doors sliding open, creating that telltale whooshing sound that signals rushing air and a moving presence. Maybe I've just become more aware because I'm waiting for him; normally I'd never notice these things. Never cared before, why care now?

I turn and see Makoto Tachibana standing there with his bulging, blue and black duffel bag hanging off his shoulder and his pale blue backpack mounted behind him. He looked hesitant and for all the world like a lost soul in his unfamiliar workout clothes, very much unlike the swimming gear I'm sure he's usually wearing.

"Tachibana!"

The emerald-eyed swimmer perked up at the sound of a friendly and (sort of) familiar voice. The poor kid looked visibly relieved at the sight of me just standing there filling up my water bottle. Little squirt.

Tachibana quickly jogged over, his backpack bouncing heavily. I chuckled. "What did you even bring?" I said, motioning with my head to the duffel bag. "Camping supplies?"

Tachibana looked a little embarrassed. "Just some stuff I thought I might need . . ."

Smiling, I held up my hand. He took it strongly as I said, "I'm glad you could make it."

* * *

"_Harder_!"

My incessant barking drove Tachibana to actually _punch_ the bag I anchored. He was too nice to hit anything, even something made for exactly that purpose. No wonder he swam: it was the only sport that didn't require any type of _hitting_. Baseball, football, _boxing_, he'd be fantastic if only he'd stop being such a nice guy!

The captain, after another few barks and some jabs so strong I could feel the bruises forming on my shoulder, rested his hands on his knees, breathing like a sick dog. I hoped I hadn't overworked the poor fellow. That last stretch was incredible though; too bad he was just a swimmer.

"Well, it's a good thing you're captain of the _swim_ team, Tachibana. If you were into anything else, there'd be no competition."

He heaved heavily, and I realized he was trying to chuckle. I like the kid's sense of humor. "I've never been too big on team sports, actually," Tachibana admitted.

"Why did you decide to bring the swim team back, then?" We moved to the bench and he fished around for his bottle and towel inside that damn huge duffel bag as I wiped my face with a towel one of the gym secretaries gave me when I walked in.

Tachibana gulped, licking his lips. "I didn't. It was actually a teammate's idea."

"And you went along with it and became captain?"

He nodded, still looking.

I smiled. "That's good."

He smiled at me over his shoulder and, finding his bottle and throwing his towel around his neck, leaned back and surveyed the gym with me. There were two girls on treadmills; a middle-aged, out-of-shape man on the bench press, trying his hardest to press sixty kilograms; a spry, cocky young man running up the step climber. Someone was in the men's locker room using the shower. The boxing ring, located behind a door and a large floor-to-ceiling window, was not. Maybe we'd go in after we cooled off a bit.

"Tachibana, listen to me."

He stopped drinking his water for a moment and looked over at me, our eyes meeting. He tilted his head in curiosity; I noticed, to my utter amusement, how much he resembled my dogs.

"Yes, Captain Mikoshiba?"

"I just wanted to tell you something." I had to pause, gather my words. I'd never been one for big speeches. "It's not easy being a captain. It isn't a job you can take lightly."

Tachibana looked at me with an air of surprise, blinking like a doe. His brow crunched up for a moment and he looked about to speak before I stopped him. "I'm not saying that's what you're doing. But being the captain of something like a sports team isn't something to joke around with. You're the sense of order, really, the authority."

"But," he seemed confused. "Gou-chan –"

I waved my hand. "Gou-chan's your manager, it's a different position." I sighed, thinking of the best way to put it so a first-timer like him could understand. "You have any younger siblings?"

He smiled a little. "Yes, actually. They're twins."

"How young?"

"They're in second grade."

I wasn't able to stop myself from smirking. "Good. So," I took a swig of water and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. "There are your parents, the ultimate authority that the squirts answer to. And then there's you. You're a gateway. You oversee their play time, they run to you when they feel sad, they hang on your ankles when you leave the front door, even if it's to water the front lawn."

He chuckled, nodded.

I continued, "You know how, when they're hungry and you're home alone watching them, they come at you with these big eyes just begging for food, for you to cook them something?"

Tachibana nodded again.

I bowed my head in return. "You're like the big brother of your team. The eldest sibling. You watch out for those kids, and you're the one who makes sure they make their own name, that they _achieve_ in all that they want to achieve in. You'll protect your teammates the same way you'd want to protect your little siblings. You do what's best for your team, no matter if that makes your job so impossibly hard you have to sacrifice a part of yourself to achieve that goal.

"You're the most important person on that team, Makoto. Without a great captain, the Iwatobi Swim Club will go nowhere."

He blinked again and for a moment I was worried I'd stumped him – in that case he's too simple minded to have _any_ place of authority on a sports team – but then he gave me a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Captain Mikoshiba." His voice was soft, sincere. Makoto looked down, his eyes glazed and distant. "I believe I needed that."

I laughed, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "Enough with the formalities: just call me Seijuurou."

He smiled, looking back to me as I stood. "Cummon, the boxing ring's open. Let's see how well you do against a moving object."

* * *

**AN: The main plot kicks in next chapter; this is just a nice bit of exposition I realized needed to come first :3**

**Now, gettin' down to business: I've decided that I don't currently have enough planned for this fic for it to be longer than like maybe 6 chapters, but I want it to be longer (my last fic was 6, I wish to improve :3). **

**Therefore, if any of you think of anything you'd like to see in this fic, drop me a PM or write it in your review and I'll see what I can do :D Keep in mind this is a rather serious fic, but even if the something you think of is funny, please don't hesitate to tell me! :3 We need a little humor to lighten up the mood every once in a while! And I'd love to see what you can come up with!**

**Link to the cover art is on our profile! :3**

**Reviews are wonderful!**

**~BFTL**


	2. Kissing Canvas

**Ugh, this chapter feels so short compared to the last one :P They're technically the same length, but the last one had more meat in it. This chapter is just one plot-scrambling event.**

**I was in a hurry to get this out to you guys, so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me! :3**

**Oh, and I have no idea how Japanese ambulances work so I just assume it's all the same deal :P**

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Watching the first years pile from the bus was a sight to behold. They jumped off the steps like a herd of elephants, one by one, and came to stand in front of me in neat rows. Their chins were held so high the sun blinded them, but they didn't seem to mind. No fun with these kids, that's for sure.

I have to teach them everything, don't I?

"Listen up kids!"

They squared their shoulders and stared like an expectant herd of deer waiting to cross a road.

"You know what we're here to do?"

No one answered.

"Well, I told your families we were working on our arm strength." I said with a smile. None of the first-years had yet suspected my master plan.

A dark-haired boy in the back, looking dashing in his school track suit, raised his hand tentatively.

"Katsuo!"

He wanted to glance at his peers for assurance, I could tell by the way his knees shuffled, but instead he held my golden gaze. "Captain, what does boxing have to do with improving our strokes? It's not exactly a _swimmer's_ workout —"

He paled at my glare. I figured that little squirt would be the one to rat me out. "Exactly, it was just an excuse."

Katsuo's brow furrowed. "Captain —?"

I was smiling. "Why are we _really_ here?"

He thought. "So you can get a discount by bringing members?"

My laugh frightened them out of their impeccable structures. "Kids, we're here to have fun! If any one of you doesn't have any sort of fun, I'm not buying your lunch!"

"Hai, Captain!"

There they went, back to being an army. If I asked them to find a way onto the roof of the gym without the use of ladders or rope they'd probably do it. I sighed; this was going to take a lot of work.

* * *

I paced the ring quietly, watching the boys dance around each other and throw glancing, non-threatening blows. They were both smiling and the rest of the boys situated around the ring were laughing and cheering. This was good; they were learning how to have fun.

Some of my second- and third-years didn't know what to do with themselves if I told them to stop frowning. Rin, the newbie back from Australia, was definitely one of them. That guy was _never _happy, and I'd be lying to myself if I said it didn't bother me. Plus, his attitude was souring Nitori's! The last thing that little grey-haired squirt needed was another thing to worry about. He was like a hamster. No, worse.

A _gerbil_.

I shuddered from the third-grade flashbacks. _War flashbacks_.

The boys in the ring called it quits, removing their practice gloves and flexing their hands to make sure their joints still worked properly. Handing off the gloves to the next two participants, I noted Katsuo was up against the gerbil.

_That's good_, I thought. They'd go easy on each other. At least it wasn't Gerbil against Rin. I shuddered at the image.

Oh! Speaking of the sour second-year, _there he was_! Strutting angrily across the window overlooking the rest of the gym. He didn't seem to notice any of us, with our black and white track suits and stunning physiques.

I ran to the door, opened it, and flagged him down, calling his name over and over incessantly and waving until he — rather embarrassedly — walked over. "What?"

"I didn't know you worked out." I teased, leaning against the door frame, my arms crossed.

Rin huffed. "Why are _you_ here?"

"I took the first-years out for some fun."

"You call boxing 'fun'?"

He obviously wasn't good at making his own conversation, so I just ended up asking the question that seemed to be haunting my mind for the past three weeks: "How's your sister?"

Rin rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. Stopping him with a hand on his shoulder, I made sure to make my voice extra sincere. "Matsuoka, I'm serious." And I was; Gou was a cute little lady, bound to have a few other competitors chasing after her. It was only right I be concerned.

"_Fine_," he all but growled.

"Well, I'll agree with you there, but how is she _doing_? Managing a swim team isn't an easy job."

I brushed off Matsuoka's dagger-like glare and clenched fists, waiting patiently for his answer. His shoulders lowered but didn't release their tension. "I don't see her very much."

I cocked my head. "Why n—"

At that moment there was a resounding _clang!_ that rang across the entire gym, bouncing of the walls and making the window shudder. Oh no, what'd they break now —

I stopped.

_Nitori_.

"Get the desk help. Call an ambulance." I said to Matsuoka, pushing him towards the front of the gym. He hardly needed to be told. I was utterly surprised by how _quiet_ my voice was.

My eyes were glazed. I couldn't be seeing this right.

The next instant I found myself jumping through the bars of the boxing ring and yelling at the first-years just standing around, staring with gems for eyes, cold and lifeless, to go get some towels. My throat swelled as I held his delicate face in my hands. "Nitori?"

His bright blue eyes were rolling like foggy marbles.

"Nitori can you hear me?"

Someone in the background said the ambulance was on its way, but I hardly heard them. I was too focused on the little first-year, whose life I held in my fingers. "Nitori, I want you to stay awake. Can you hear me? _Nitori_?"

I think he'd already lost consciousness, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to stop calling his name.

I was told later that Rin and a few of the first-years had to pry me away from Nitori's pale, nearly lifeless body. They took him away on a stretcher and the sirens soon faded in the distant hills. A couple of gym attendants came in to clean up the blood before it stained the ring. We were ushered outside in a flurry; we moved like drones, herded outside by the attendants, our piles of belongings bundled up in our arms.

Someone had to wash my hands for me; I'm not quite sure who. All I know, even in my comatose state, was that I couldn't bring myself to do it.

_Nitori._

In that moment, I felt so useless. All I could do was hold him and try to stop the blood rushing from the crack in the back of his head.

I thought of my sisters. What would I do, if I let them box against an opponent of unknown skill? What if they were injured, and I had been the one to let it happen? What if they—

I stopped there. No, I would not let that happen to Aiichiro.

He was my responsibility. _I had let him down._

There was only one thing I thought after I arrived at my home. Pushing my little sisters and their bright plastic toys away, pushing away their babysitter and her unremitting nagging, pushing open the bathroom door and locking myself behind it.

My internal structures were beaten down. All I could do was slump down in the tub and think.

_Blame._

There was only one thing I thought.

_What did Katsuo do?_

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**Oh noes! D: What happened to our precious little Nitori? Will he survive? Stay tuned!**

**Reviews are welcome!**

**(Oh, and idk if you guys know this, but "Gatekeeper" [the name of chapter 1], "Kissing Canvas" [the name of this chapter], and "Haymaker" are all actuall boxing terms :3 I love doing research XD**

**Gatekeeper: Term used to describe a fighter who is not a threat to be champion, but opponents can establish themselves as a legitimate contender by beating him.***

**Kiss the Canvas: When a boxer is knocked down face first onto the canvas. In the old days they would say His face was in the resin of the canvas."****

**Haymaker: A haymaker is a wild swinging punch thrown with all of the person's weight behind it in an attempt to knockout the other person. You usually see haymakers in street fighting or in the movies. Haymakers are also used in boxing as a last resort. They deliver enough force to break a man's jaw. The term first appeared in 1912, perhaps from the 1880 "hit the hay" or "go to sleep."****

***Definition taken from _predictem (d-ot) com_  
**

****Definitions taken from _ringsidebygus (d-ot) com_)**


	3. Down for the Count

**Okie dokie, first off I'd like to thank my beautiful friends who helped a bunch with everything in this fic: Midnas, Sek, and our school friend Deegan. **

**Midnas, you put up with my nagging and shiz mix, helping with the rest of the plot, and giving me new music so I now have an adequate writing playlist. **

**Sek, darling, you also put up with my incessant nagging and betaing my chappies and just getting this fic started. **

**And Deegs, your conversation at rehearsal this weekend about dealing with your little brother and sometimes your sister really helped, though your influence will show up in later chapters. **

**I love you all so much!**

**Enjoy the chapter! :3 Hope it's not too boring for all y'all :P (This takes place a week later than the events of last chapter)**

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**Down for the Count****: ****A boxer who is knocked down for the count of ten.**

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I hate hospitals.

I know that's an extremely boring thing to say; I mean, I've never met anyone who ever says they're the best thing in the world, but it's true. I can't stand them. Too many bad memories.

I broke two of my lower-left ribs when I was a kid. I tried to prove I could play football* with the big boys across the street and ended up getting the ball neatly wedged between my diaphragm and my pelvis. That's what we told the doctors, at least.**

My best friend when I was seven broke his toes trying to carry a cinderblock from one end of his garage to another. Kids aren't very smart.

And two times after that, when I was eight and ten, respectively, we took my mother to the hospital. She needed lots of help on those days. The results were two slimy little aliens my parents called May and Sue. My sisters. They're still slimy little aliens, no doubt about it, but I've learned how to deal with them. Buy them cute dresses with petticoats for their birthdays. Walk them to school every morning. Teach them how to swim; that was definitely the best.

Those were the few times that really stand out to me. Other, less-important things have happened; mostly sport-related. Tore a ligament in my knee in sixth grade; twisted my ankle trying to take a short-cut to school one morning (never try to go down a hill on a cloudy day); had to get a few stitches above my eyebrow and on the side of my hand from that time my pant leg got caught on the gears of my bike. I seem to constantly be in a state of repair.

I've grown up hating hospitals.

Now I've got another incident to add to that string of confrontations.

"Excuse me, but is this seat taken?"

I'd been so wrapped up in my own thoughts I had hardly noticed the pair of grey, suede penny loafers sitting before me. I looked up and beheld a kind-faced, older woman, perhaps in her late forties. The pale blue cardigan wrapped around her thin, frail shoulders was probably hand-knit. Her off-white, tea-length dress was dotted with small blue flowers and twirling vines. Her penny loafers, oddly enough, matched both her handbag, clutched in her tiny hands, and her hair, wrapped up neatly around her head and supporting a small blue cap-like hat.

I stood immediately. I towered above her—she couldn't have been taller than one-and-a-half meters. I'd recognize that soft smile anywhere. "Mrs. Nitori?"

She blinked, rather surprised. "Do I know you, young man?"

Bowing deeply, ignoring the deep aching in my chest, I said, "My name is Mikoshiba Seijuurou. I am the captain of the Samezuka Swim Club and I would like to take full responsibility for your son's injuries."

The silence that followed my dispatch burrowed deep into my ears, driving my sense of absolute guilt farther and deeper into me. I found myself going on. "I neglected to show the group proper safety measures and watch them to make sure nothing serious happened. If it weren't for my lapse in attention, your son would not be as grievously injured as he is no—"

Her small hand was on my shoulder. I stopped, my head snapping up to look her in the eye. The glaze behind her eyes was something of a sadness I did not know, and would not experience for a time yet to come—the sadness of nearly losing a child—but her pastel irises were not entirely pitiful, more empathetic. Mrs. Nitori sighed, taking my hand and sitting in the empty chair to my left. I sat down again and looked at her expectantly.

We sat there for a long while, her hands wrapped around mine. They were papery, slim; I could crush them without batting an eye, if I wasn't careful. But they were warm.

"I will ask no more of you, Seijuurou."

I had grown so used to wallowing in my silence that her sudden talk was chilling. "Ma'am?"

Mrs. Nitori shook her head, patted the back of my tanned hand. Her old skin was tattered but soft, startling when compared to my youthful, calloused hands.

"You alone have done so much for my son; I fear I may never be able to repay you."

I believe there has not yet been a term invented for when someone in my position is battling the deepest confusion he has yet received in his almost-twenty years of life. "Mrs. Nitori . . ." My voice was quieter now. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Squeezing my hands reassuringly, Mrs. Nitori said, "I'm sure you will understand at a later date, as I am sure I will too."

And we left the conversation there.

The scent of fresh peppermints overwhelmed me as a nurse walked past. Peppermints reminded me of my mother. She'd been addicted to peppermints the day we were walking back from the store and passed a box of puppies. To this day, I still manage to convince my mother I was innocent, that the three critters followed us home of their own accord, but we all know it's a lie and I do it just for kicks. Purposefully laying down a sloppy trail of cookie crumbs is hardly "not getting involved," but the little twerps and our housekeeper believe me tenfold.

Mom was pregnant with May then, which was basically her excuse to drag me to the store to satisfy her feminine cravings. I always tell the girls the dogs were my real brothers ("They _were_ actually born before you were, you know—") and they just felt like being dogs all the time, as opposed to being people. The girls believe my tales just as much as they believe that they were bought from a special kind of supermarket out in the country that only sold babies (they were having a sale on baby girls then and Mom already thought dealing with four sons—or really, a son with an over-active imagination and three puppies that we couldn't return—was a handful). Every word. Did I raise them to be so gullible?

But as it turns out, May had just as much energy as I did, if not a whole lot more. Sue can be pretty bouncy if she really wants something, but most of the time she's the cute little quiet one that I take to the bookstore and read bedtime stories to. Being girls, they know where to focus their energy and nag for the thing they want most, whereas I was just bouncing off the walls in bliss and the puppies were yapping about us. I was bouncing off the walls; the girls were boring holes into them.

That's when Mom decided to hire out housekeeper, Tomoko.

Another nurse opened the door to our left and asked if we were here to see Achiiro Nitori. I was up on my feet in a split second; Mrs. Nitori, once she was up all the way, took my offered arm and we gently pattered into the room together.

The room, as all hospital rooms do, had two beds, pastel-green curtains that matched absolutely nothing else other than the puke buckets lying under the beds, walls that served as the gateway into a white oblivion, and a solitary window. Nitori was lying on the bed by the window, an IV in his arm, sedated and looking for all the world like he was hung over. There was layer upon layer of bandages wrapped around his head; from beneath spontaneous points in the bandages, wires popped out, trailed along the pillow, and hooked up to a large, archaic-looking machine. He lay there on his side, right eye large, black, and swollen; I gathered that's where Katsuo had punched him.

I helped Mrs. Nitori around the edge of the bed to the bench along the wall. I must've worked a lot worse than she did: after we settled down she went back to holding my hands reassuringly.

Mrs. Nitori was an enigma to me. How could she be so calm when her son was comatose, sleeping in a place she could not reach?

The doctor walked in. A man with stranger skin I still have yet to behold. I wondered what my head would look like if I shaved all the hair off. Would it be shiny and blotted like his? Would they call me "Egg Head?" I'd have no need for a swim cap, that would be sure, but the only downside was that Gou-chan would be very upset. I'm pretty sure she likes my hair the way it is . . .

"Mrs. Nitori, I assume?"

* * *

Her hands never left mine throughout that entire visit. I cannot remember how long we were there. All I really remember was that I constantly had to remind myself not to crush Mrs. Nitori's hands.

Achiiro had hit the metal pole coming up from the corner of the ring on his way down, creating a large fracture running vertically along the back of his skull (that's why he was lying on his side. If they set him up on his back, the doctor was afraid his skull might cave in and, oh no, we most certainly didn't want _that_). And because of Katsuo's rocket-powered punch, the brow ridge above Nitori's swollen eye was _also_ wrecked. Geez, what _wasn't _broken with this kid?

Mrs. Nitori handled it all with a grace and composure that I've never seen matched. If this were my own mother and I was on the bed with a concussion, she'd be sobbing so hard it'd put the annual monsoons to shame.

No one had any idea when Achiiro might wake up. All the doctor, Yusei, could surmise was that if and when he did wake up, he would probably have difficulty seeing. You don't get the back of your head smashed open and punched in the eye without some side effects. Right now was a bad time to survey the damage caused to his occipital lobe, and taking into account how bad his right eye was looking, Yusei informed Mrs. Nitori that her son might become blind in that eye, possibly both.

After that, Yusei informed us that he only wished he could do more; I walked Mrs. Nitori to her car, making sure she had a firm grip on the wheel—if I didn't support her, what would?—before letting her drive away.

She'd told me I was wonderful.

Such concern for someone I barely knew was the sign of a soldier, she said. Had I ever considered joining the army, she asked. I told her no. That was the first real sign of sadness I saw drown her smile.

I thought of my family as I walked home. Had I ever considered joining the army? My mother's not a strong emotional woman, and neither is May. Sue would suffer in silence, but I'm not so sure my father would suffer at all. Would he bat an eye?

Speaking of my little sufferer, I arrived home and there she was, humming words quietly to herself as she played with her dolls. When May was playing, she was all over the place, yelling, screaming, whispering in a flurry. Sue never spoke when she played with her dolls and stuffed animals; she'd sit there, going through the same actions from her position on the rug, but humming all the words. Expressions and all, except she never said any words. She looked positively _bored. _The dogs were out in the yard, napping in the late afternoon sun.

"Hey Sue-chan!" I called, cheerier than I felt by far. My sister looked up. She ran to me and hugged my legs, still not tall enough to hug me around the waist.

"Sei-chan!"

"Where's Tomoko-san and May-chan?"

Sue pulled away and looked up at me like I was a towering oak, bright amber eyes aglow. "May's at a sleepover with her friends, and Tomoko-san left after May did; she has the weekend off."

Mom and Dad were at work, we both knew that. May wouldn't be home before noon tomorrow, the parents both come home late, Tomoko wouldn't be here till Monday. It'd be Sue and me till at least midnight. I knelt down and grabbed her, throwing my schoolbag in the corner to be picked up later, smiling wide. "You wanna have fun tonight?"

She brightened like a star, my little fire. "Yeah!"

I stuffed my key into the lock and my wallet in my pocket and told her, "Let's go get you some more books, then. You must be out already, huh?"

* * *

I loved making my little sister happy. I perched her on my shoulders and we walked to the book store. We'd walk across the street and pick up some sugary snacks I could never let May eat—could you imagine? She'd be _on fire_ as she bounced around the walls—after we buy some new books, and then head home, marathon a couple movies, read a bit, watch more movies, eat "crazy food," fall asleep on each other, wake up and pass events back and forth until we'd formed a well crafted story.

The bookstore was lazy and large on a Friday afternoon. I ducked to avoid Sue's forehead getting hit on the doorframe and let her monkey her way down to the floor. For a moment, we just stood there, looking around. I looked down at her and she looked up at me. "What do eight-year-olds read, anyway?"

She shrugged. "There were some that I saw last time that I wanted to get."

I patted her back, scooting her along towards the children's section. "I have to get a book for school real quick, and then I'll see you over there."

Sue smiled with a bright "Ok onii-chan!" and raced away like an airplane. I chuckled and walked to the adult fiction section, walking along the rows, scanning the shelves for the book my Literature teacher told us we'd be analyzing next week. Older literature was such a bore.

I let out a soft "Ah!" when I skimmed over it again. But as I reached for a copy, an unknown hand slid into my vision, reaching for the same book. Startled, I balked away and smiled awkwardly at the stranger beside me.

My smile fell.

_Katsuo._

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**D'you guise ever, like, start writing and then you go back to proof it and you don't even remember writing this hugeass tangent but you can't get rid of it because it would just be more work for you? And you can tie it in somewhere later on this the story? That's me. Like, all the time.**

***American's call it soccer; the rest of the world calls it football :P Idk why we don't just change the name already, American football doesn't even incorporate your feet.**

****While doing my research on rib-breaking, I came across this article that said a broken rib in a younger child is usually a sign of abuse.**

**And yeah, the Japanese used the metric system, I'm pretty sure :3**

**Gosh they're so American in this fic :P First they're shakings hands, now they're talking about joining the army—Idk what y'all in Japan do about the military, but here in America it's like, every family's got at least one person in **_**some **_**branch of the military. I've got a sister in the Air Force and a cousin stationed in Germany *Hoists flag and sings anthem* Love you guys.**

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**REGARDING THE PAIRINGS: A couple of you have asked for the Seikoto, and while SeiGou IS my OTP, I will not deny that there is some random **_**heavily implied**_** shipping of Seikoto later on in the fic XD How could I not? YOU HAVE BEEN FOREWARNED!**

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**Soz for the long ANs :P Kudos and cookies for y'all that read through it all :3**

**Reviews are loved! Keep em comin dears :3 Drop by to give any requests if you come up with any! I really need em, actually :P this was the point where my creativity kinda stopped . . . .**


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